


Aseur

by Elektra Pendragon (elekdragon)



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-01-17
Updated: 2000-01-17
Packaged: 2017-10-11 11:17:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/111837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elekdragon/pseuds/Elektra%20Pendragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How does one brother make up for raising his blade against another?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aseur

**Author's Note:**

> References to the flashback events of the Horsemen Epiosodes. I blame Tilt for this one, and her mention of Caspian's Panther Game. Never compare a man to an animal around me unless you are prepared to deal with the consequences.

The night was warm and fragrant. A light breeze picked up the coolness of the  
oasis, causing a soft shivering of the short grasses that grew wildly around it. Though the  
moon had yet to show its sallow face, the warm white sands glittered with starshine,  
reflecting the heat and light that the tiny grains had stored during the day. Methos could  
easily find his way though the sage and tiny cacti without a torch. He had removed his  
heavy raiding garments and wore only his white shirt and pants, but soon the night would  
become too cold for such meager dressing. Only in this time between sundown and  
middle-evening could one walk comfortably through the desert without facing either  
extreme. It was Methos's favorite time to escape on a nightly walk. The light of the camp  
dimmed behind him as he wandered deeper into the desert, his thoughts following the  
rounded and wandering path of his steps.

His new slave was almost more trouble than she was worth. Though she was  
frightened of him, she fought like a ghul. Each time he raped her, she screamed until he  
killed her. Each time she awoke, she goaded him into stabbing her again, making it clear  
that she would prefer to be dead than to be in his company. After he had her the last time,  
he left the knife in her breast so that he could have some peace and quiet. The camp now  
slept, though the magic of his brothers still made his spine hum with their presence around  
him.

Methos sighed aloud. His brother Caspian was not happy that he had taken Silas'  
side again today, and over such a silly squabble. Those two fought like a hound and  
jackal, always at each other's throat. True, all three of his brothers were like that when  
they were together, but only Silas and Caspian ever drew blades against each other. So  
caught up in the thrill of his own undying slave, Methos had overreacted and resorted to  
his own sword rather than words to separate his brothers. If Kronos hadn't appeared,  
Methos wasn't sure where the situation would have led. It worried him that after so many  
seasons together--more than ten generations--they were drifting apart.

He took only a few dozen steps into the dark shadow of a hill when a deep growl  
stopped him. The rumbling noise came from above him and to the right. Slowly he turned  
his head to look over his shoulder. A dark shadow, barely discernible from the rock itself,  
swayed sensuously as it growled again. A leopard, perhaps, hoping to make a final kill for  
the night? Whatever it was, it was big and it was hungry. And it wanted Methos.

A pebble slipped and knocked against the larger stones, and sand began to fall in a  
cascade as the animal readied to attack. Instinctively Methos shifted to the left to avoid  
being hit, but his attacker anticipated the move and fell upon him. Methos was knocked to  
the ground, his hands and feet lashing out at the dark shadow, but strong hands grasped  
his wrists and pinned them above his head.

Hands? "Who--?"

The heavy weight on his body moved, pressing against his chest to cut off his  
breath. Sharp knees dug into his thighs. "What do you mean 'If I have to lose one, it will  
be you'?" a dangerously snarling voice slowly drawled. His captor sat up, relieving the  
pressure on his chest and switching both his wrists to one hand.

Methos sucked in a deep breath and stopped his struggles as he realized who held  
him. "Caspian," he sighed in relief. A knife to his throat stopped the sigh from becoming  
anything further.

Caspian leaned close to Methos so that in the sparse desert light he could see his  
eyes glittering, hear the human growl rumble from his chest, feel the way Caspian's body  
trapped his completely. The knife pressed against his windpipe, but it did not cut the  
flesh. His hot breath brushed against Methos's lips as he continued in a soft whisper.  
"Would you have killed me, Methos? Over a blanket?" Teeth, sharp as any desert cat's,  
nipped at his chin, threatening and playful at the same time. Caspian bit his way down  
Methos's jawline, leaving marks on the blue-painted skin.

Methos bared his throat to the nibbling teeth, showing no fear as he pushed up into  
the knife. "Would you have killed Silas over a blanket?"

"It was mine," Caspian laughed into the shell of Methos's ear. "He called me a  
thief!"

"You are a thief, Caspian. We all are."

"You may be a batir, Methos," Caspian snarled, "but I take only what I deserve."  
Those teeth bit hard into his jugular, almost but not quite breaching the thick vein.  
Holding the delicate skin in his mouth, Caspian growled and shook his head as though he  
meant to tear it off. Methos's breath hitched, and he groaned at the pain. A long swipe of  
a rough tongue, and the hurt was gone. Caspian moved on to suck on more of his neck, at  
times causing pain, mostly causing tense pleasure. Methos flexed his arms in Caspian's  
grasp but didn't fight to be freed. He fought to hold his brother closer to him, to toss his  
arms over the muscular back and press them tighter together.

Fight, then fuck. It was an old game between them, of which Methos would never  
tire. The pattern was set the day they met, and it kept the band of four discordant men  
from fall to pieces. It worked for he and Kronos, and Kronos and Caspian as well, when  
they had an argument. Now if Methos could only get Caspian and Silas into the sack  
together, maybe it would solve some of their problems. In spite of himself, he laughed at  
the image of his completely incompatible brothers fucking.

"What's so funny Methos?" Caspian pressed his blade deeper into Methos's throat,  
this time causing blood to swell against the sharp edge.

He'd tell Caspian later--and enjoy making up to him for the unappetizing image.  
"Nothing, shir. Just kiss me already."

Wet lips and a rasp of facial hair--this is what Methos loved more than the killing  
or the fighting. The kissing. The crush of lips and teeth and tongue. The soft and hungry  
touch of two mouths meeting. A battle where both sides were the winners. Caspian was  
the best kisser he had ever known, which made it all the more worth while to get into this  
position. Losing himself in another--in his brother--was the greatest thrill for Methos. It  
was like being devoured alive. A little pain, a little fight, but it was worth it to be held  
inside the belly of a wild beast, where it was warm and safe, where you were cherished.

And to feel that beast enter you--there was nothing like it in all the world.

Methos writhed and wiggled until he worked a leg free. Pressing his booted heel  
into Caspian's backside, he crushed their groins together in a hard flex of muscle. Caspian  
broke the lock of their mouths to groan out his own cry of pain/pleasure.

"Mount me Caspian," Methos begged, pressing in just the right way to make his  
request impossible to deny. "Oh, gods, devour me!"

The knife disappeared from his neck and the weight from his body. "On your  
knees then, batir."

Not even looking at his brother, Methos flipped onto his stomach and launched  
himself onto his hands and knees. His shirt slid up his back as he flexed his shoulders, and  
a warm hand followed its path, kneading his muscles and tracing his spine.

"I hope you weren't too fond of these pants." A sharp, cold point pressed into his  
back, and with a loud ripping noise and a rush of cool air, Methos's ass was bared to the  
night. The heavy fabric fell to his knees, cut perfectly in half without even scratching his  
skin. He could hear scuffling sounds behind him, but all he cared about was the massage  
his half-bare back was receiving. Methos stretched and moaned under the delicious touch,  
the calloused hand that knew just where to scratch and where to rub. His brother knew  
exactly how he liked to be touched.

Caspian's second hand, minus the knife, wove into Methos's wind-wild hair,  
caressing his skull. Hands that could deftly remove all the skin from his body before he  
could even think to scream were now gentle, giving nothing but pleasure. Methos winced  
as a lock of hair caught in Caspian's ring and pulled. Pleasure, but always with that spice  
of pain that marked their conjoined lives. Methos wouldn't have it any other way.

Caspian's hand slid all the way up Methos's back, over the bunched shirt around his  
shoulders, and around to cup his chin. His hand covered Methos's mouth. Pulling back on  
his hair like a horse's reins, Caspian pulled Methos against his chest. "Spit," he  
commanded. Obediently Methos did as he was ordered and spit into Caspian's palm. He  
heard Caspian also add his own saliva to the mix before he was pushed back onto his  
hands, his shirt pushed down around his wrists.

Growling like a cat in heat, Caspian licked a path to Methos' neck as he nudged  
Methos's opening with his spit-slickened penis. Letting out a long, low moan, Methos  
pushed back and willed himself to take his brother inside. "Bali, bali," Methos whispered  
as he felt the pressure build and finally break. "Bali!" he shouted as Caspian entered him  
with a long hiss, sliding all the way inside with a single shove. They had done this so  
many times, the pain was only a small part of the intense sensations he felt as Caspian  
rested inside him, leaning against his back with his arms around Methos's chest. Methos  
breathed deeply, rolling his hips in small circles as his body stretched to accommodate  
Caspian's erection.

Caspian's fingers dug into the bones of Methos's hips, stilling his movement. "Don't  
move batir. Ah, don't move, or this will be over." Caspian panted against his shoulder,  
trying to bring himself back under control. His hands wandered over Methos's body, lightly  
petting him as his heart beat wildly against Methos's back. When the questing hands found  
Methos's erection, they began to tug and play, making it very difficult for Methos to stay  
still. He didn't want to move and cause Caspian to come just yet, but he so wanted to  
thrust into those expert hands. With a dangerous growl, Methos tilted his head back to  
rest against the top of Caspian's head and let his brother play.

When Methos sensed enough time had passed, and when he could hold still no  
longer, he squeezed with his inner muscles, contracting and releasing enough to remind  
Caspian why he was in there. In response, Caspian rubbed his cheek against his shoulder  
in a long cat-like caress. Fairly purring, he buried his face into Methos's neck as he tilted  
his hips to bring his cock half-way out of Methos's body.

Methos bent his head at the long burn followed the withdrawal, arching his back to  
make the movement easier for them both. Caspian's hands continued their play on his  
genitals, but now their hold was tighter and had more purpose. One hand squeezed his  
balls proprietarily as the other began a rough tugging on his cock that sent sparks of erotic  
tension through Methos's body.

When he thrust forward, Caspian sank his teeth into the small bones of Methos's  
neck, breaking the skin as he snarled and hissed. Neither of them would last long, Methos  
knew, so he began a quick counter-movement of his hips to Caspian's thrusts, giving  
himself over to the sensations of being held and rocked by his favorite brother. The hand  
on his erection grew wilder and rougher with the movements; nails as sharp as claws drew  
long, thin lines of blood along the length of his penis. The heavy cock in his ass thrust  
faster and faster as the two men lost themselves in the mating frenzy.

Methos was the first to come. He couldn't control the shout of completion that  
began as a moan and ended in a muddled patois of curses and promises of love. His  
semen fell onto the parched ground, where the white sand swallowed every drop. When  
Caspian came, the bite at Methos's throat became almost unbearable. His fingers dug deep  
into his hips as Caspian held Methos still, spilling himself into Methos's bowels. Unable to  
support both their weights, Methos's arms gave out, and the two fell to the ground.

For a few minutes, Methos panted against the warm sand, concerned more with  
getting his breath back than anything else. Then the stinging pain at the base of his neck  
came to his attention. "Caspian?" he asked over his shoulder. He didn't receive an  
answer. "Caspian! Shir! I swear if you fell asleep on me I will kill you."

Painfully slow, the teeth withdrew from his flesh. The skin itched and stung as a  
tongue lapped at the healing wound, cleaning off the blood. "You'd kill me for falling  
asleep?" he purred into Methos's ear, as sated as a big cat after the hunt. The rough tongue  
laved the sweat off his cooling skin, moving in lazy swipes down his back as Methos lay  
on his stomach.

Methos hummed in his throat, enjoying the tongue-bath. "Mmmm...yes, I would.  
Ouch!" Caspian giggled as he licked the small bite mark he made on the right cheek of  
Methos's ass. "Someone ought to put a muzzle on you."

Caspian ran his tongue up the cleft of his ass, effectively quieting his talkative  
brother. "You can try, brother," he laughed, then he pushed his tongue deeper into  
Methos's cleft, cleaning away the mess of their coupling.

Methos writhed in the sand, feeling his organ swell again. Even after the workout  
he had gotten from both his new slave and Caspian, Methos was still hungry for more.  
"Tomorrow night, shir," he promised, pushing up into the talented tongue. For now,  
though, Methos preferred Caspian's mouth unmuzzled. For now, he was happy with the  
way things were.

 

THE END

TRANSLATIONS:  
Aseur = After Sunset  
Batir = Thief  
Shir = Lion  
Bali = Yes


End file.
